


Dirt and Claws.

by pink_autumn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Abuse, Destiel - Freeform, Drug Abuse, M/M, Prostitution, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Suicide, Teenagers, idk everything, switch - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 12:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16095245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pink_autumn/pseuds/pink_autumn
Summary: Dean's a prostitute. Castiel's a psychology student with a knack of collecting broken things. When a literal collision makes them cross path, will Dean's rapid need to self destruct win over Castiel's need to heal him? Or will the pressure of the world and broken pasts break their relationship before it even has time to form.





	Dirt and Claws.

**Author's Note:**

> Ha ha i know i suck and should be working on the shit i've already started and am twenty or more chaps in. I WILL GET BACK TO THEM after i get this out of my system. 
> 
> *Trigger Warnings for the entire series*  
> literally EVERYTHING. Rape/non con. Suicide. Self harm. Alcohol abuse. Sickness. Deaths. substance abuse (alcohol, pain killers, drugs), childhood abuse, graphic depictions of sex, dubious consent, mentions of underage sex, mention of date rape, mild violence, minor character death. Ok yay.

Dirt and claws.

Chapter 1. Orange.

_Up down strange charm top bottom._

Cas yawned wearily, his hand tightening on the steering wheel as he blinked. He repeated the six names in his head. The names of the six quarks – the fundamental particles that made _everything._ Quarks made atoms, atoms made molecules, molecules made humans and wood and metals and all that shit. He was still pissed off at Benny for kicking him out in the middle of the night just because Benny and Lisa were getting all cozy. Cas huffed, even on a group study night his best friend was thinking about sex.

Typical.

 _Up down strange charm top bottom,_ Cas repeated as he turned a turnpike towards the university hostel. He hated the hostel, thus spending almost every other night in Benny’s flat. The road was deserted and Castiel was going at a constant, calm pace when another car came next to his. Cas stifled another yawn and looked over. The man behind the steering wheel of the other car looked back at him. Even in the orange glow of the car headlights, Castiel could tell the man was probably in pain. His sharp jaw was bruised, an eye swollen and blue. Cas was thinking about rolling down his window and asking whether the guy was alright when the man’s gaze met Cas’ and his mouth moved in a silent “Sorry”.

 _Up down strange charm top bottom,_ the mantra repeated in Cas’ mind as the man swerved his car sharply into Castiel’s. The cars collided and Castiel’s entire frame flew forward, the seatbelt digging painfully into Castiel’s chest and glass shattered all around him. He felt something crush against his ribs and his mind went black as all the air was knocked out of him.

XXX

Dean bit his lip hard, trying to stay as silent as possible as the man behind him gripped his hips hard. He stifled another groan at the thought of bruises. The man’s thrusts increased in force as his hand carded into Dean’s hair, trying to get a grip. His fingers clawed unsuccessfully through Dean’s hair, who carefully and intentionally kept his hair cropped short at the back, even though they formed slightly longer waves in front. The man grunted against Dean’s neck, his hand coming forward to grasp Dean’s semi hard cock. Dean swallowed bile rising in his throat and thanked his body for its animalistic reaction to the body heat behind it.

“Take my cock, you slut,” the man whispered behind him and Dean flinched.

_Slut. Slut. Slut. Slut. Slut._

Dean should’ve gotten used to the derogation by now, but it always hurt anew. The man pulled out of him, turning Dean around.

“Knees,” he said.

Dean kneeled, his mouth opening on its own accord as he took the man’s cock in. The man grasped Dean’s head, pulling him inside until his length hit the back of Dean’s throat. Dean gagged, trying to pull back but the man held him in place. He bit slightly trying to make a point to the man, who relented. Dean took a deep breath and looked up, ready to tell the man off.

Dean had a second to back off slightly before the fist hit his face. It still grazed Dean’s jaw, the man’s ring cutting his skin.

“What the…” Dean started, his words cut off as the man swung again. Dean fumbled back, trying to retaliate but doubling over when the man kicked his stomach. He felt something collide with his face. He heard the man swear. Heard the door open and then close.

Dean waited, breathing hard. He could follow the man. Throw a punch. But he waited, breathing hard. He could fight, but to what end? Dean sat upright, feeling his blood rush to his right eye, which was swelling. His jaw hurt, his stomach _ached._ He looked at the floor and saw a broken vase there. A vase that was previously on the dresser of the hotel room he was in. So _that’s_ what hit my face, Dean thought.

He gingerly touched his swollen eye and stood up. He saw his reflection in the full body mirror in one corner of the room and quickly averted his eyes. He could fight. But to what end? Dean looked at the side table, where previously he had placed five hundred bucks. Now the bare mahogany wood seemed to taunt him.

Dean cursed himself for leaving the money out. _Rookie mistake, Winchester._  

He crouched and collected his clothes, putting them on quickly. Messing his hair up so that they partly could hide his swollen eye, Dean exited the room. Steps hurried and head downcast, he walked through the hotel corridor, walked through the hotel lobby, walked out the door, walked the few blocks to where his car was parked and climbed inside.

He rested his head, by now pounding like hell, against the steering wheel. He inhaled the familiar leather smell of the car and sighed. He could fight. He should fight… but to what end. Dean started the car, and drove in direction of the hotel he was currently staying in. Almost an year in New York, and he still didn’t have a place to call his own.

He kept driving, trying to keep his mind silent. He just needed to get to his room. His pills were waiting, the drugs were waiting, the alcohol was waiting.  He’d take some painkillers, snort a line of cocaine and sleep everything off. Maybe he won’t wake up.

The speed of the car increased as his mind kept thinking. Home. His father. Sam. _Slut._ The road was deserted save from one more car driving a little ahead of him. Dean sped up until his car was next to it and looked over. A boy sat behind the steering wheel, rubbing his eyes in obvious tiredness. He looked over and even in the orange glow of the headlights, Dean could tell the man’s eyes were sparkling blue.

He could fight, but to what end?

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, knowing the man couldn’t hear him, before he swerved the car to the right.


End file.
